THR Volume 3 : Better Days
by RosieMac
Summary: A small town in Texas, during one week in September 2016. People go about their daily lives, blissfully unaware that they have been spared Judgment Day. Meanwhile, other people do other things... and the 3 volume saga reaches its conclusion. Or does it?
1. One

**THR VOLUME 3: BETTER DAYS**

_**Part One – With A Girl Like You**_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful TSCC characters, I am merely borrowing them; however, the others are all mine._

* * *

**_A small town west of Lubbock, Texas; Friday, September 2nd 2016._**

The single-story building sat in a side alley, just off of Main Street. It was small, maybe a hundred feet long by thirty wide. Its magnolia paintwork was sun-worn and cracked, flaking in many places. A metal sign hanging over the front door bore the carefully painted legend:

**Roy Strauss Engineering**

**est. 1987**

"_We Repair Anything"_

Out of the side door emerged two men and one woman. It was just after 5PM and the day had not yet begun to cool off. The older of the two men lingered behind to lock the door. The other headed towards Main Street, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. He was aged around thirty, just under six feet tall; he wore his brown hair short but with no affectations. He made no attempt to disguise the flecks of gray that were beginning to appear, indicators of a hard and stressful life. His tanned face had not seen a razor for a couple of days.

The much younger, dark-haired woman linked an arm in his free one. "Hey, Frankie! Wanna buy me a drink?" she asked, looking up adoringly at him.

"Thanks Tanya, but I can't. Em an' me are doing something tonight; she don't like seeing me with other women neither, so you'd best keep your distance," Frank replied, trying to extricate himself from her grasp.

Tanya resisted his efforts. "So where is she, the mysterious Emily? None of us have ever seen her; I bet she don't exist: you just don't wanna admit you ain't got a girl!" she asserted.

Frank stopped and looked at her with a curious expression. _You just don't know, _he thought.

From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a dozen-year old Jeep Grand Cherokee, its faded pewter paintwork matching the aged, wind-blown look of the town perfectly. As he looked closer, its engine turned over and roared into life, a deep burble emanating from the V8 engine under the hood. The SUV launched forward, then came to a halt right beside him. The passenger window descended and Frank could see within the driver leaning over towards him.

"Want a ride? Looks like you could use one," the Texan-accented voice asked.

Frank perused the driver, a smiling woman in her mid-twenties with cheap-looking, bleached-blonde shoulder-length hair tied back into a loose pony-tail, an inch or so of dark roots showing; she was dressed in a tight-fitting dark blue spaghetti-strap top which sported the words _Property of Cowboys_ in white, above a way-too short faded denim skirt. He couldn't see them, but knew she was wearing air-force blue Converse sneakers on her feet, the only sensible part of her attire. He knew, because it was the outfit she was wearing when he left home that morning.

"Em, this is Tanya, from work. Tanya, this is my wife, Emily," Frank introduced.

"Pleased to meetcha. At last," Tanya said, smiling uncertainly as she leaned over awkwardly to see the woman located within the Jeep's interior.

"Likewise, I'm sure," Emily replied, her smile still fixed in place.

"Well, I gotta go. See ya tomorrow, Frankie," said Tanya, who felt somewhat uncomfortable, but wasn't exactly sure why; usually nothing fazed her.

"Sure," said Frank, waving her off as he got into the Jeep.

Roy Strauss had finished locking up for the day and sauntered over to the car. "Hey guys, wanna come by Monday for a barbecue? It's a Labor Day tradition for us, and Stacey's dyin' to meet ya."

"That'd be just peachy, Mister Strauss," Emily replied cheerfully. "What time?"

Frank looked sideways at his wife, wondering when she got to be so sociable.

"Call me _Roy_, little lady. And noon seems about fine. That okay for you guys?"

"Sure is, Roy. We'll be there. Should I bring somethin'? Pie maybe?"

"Yeah, sounds good. We'll see you then. And see you tomorrow, Frank." Roy smiled at Emily, then nodded his head towards Frank. "Great guy you got here."

"Yeah, he's the best. Ain'tcha Frankie?" replied Emily, still smiling.

Frank said nothing as Emily shifted into Drive and pulled away. "You following me?" he inquired.

"Doin' a grocery run," his wife replied, jerking a thumb backwards to the trunk.

He turned to look, but couldn't see what lay beyond the rear seats.

The journey home was silent save for the country and western music coming from the radio, punctuated by adverts and inane chatter from the show's presenter. Emily kept time with one of the songs by tapping on the steering-wheel, which Frank pretended not to notice.

Emily parked the venerable Jeep in the shade under the lean-to alongside their small home in the Happy Trails trailer park. Frank waited in the cool of the air-conditioned car as his wife grabbed her purse from under her seat and got out, opened the tailgate, scooped up one of the three grocery bags and strolled to the door of their trailer. Having opened up, she entered then quickly returned empty-handed for the other two bags. She glanced at Frank, who took his cue to exit the vehicle with his rucksack. He closed the Jeep's tailgate after Emily had grabbed the bags therein, then followed her back inside their trailer.

The day was still warm and Frank could feel sweat trickle down into the small of his back under his plain green cotton shirt. The contrast from the chill of the car was great, but Frank didn't care. He had endured cold that penetrated down to the bone; a bit of honest-to-goodness heat was not something he took for granted. _Besides_, he told himself, _Emily never complains if I work up a sweat._

Re-united in the kitchen area, the couple set about placing the contents of the grocery bags in the imitation pine storage units and their over-worked refrigerator.

Finally done, they looked at one another. Frank reached into his rucksack and pulled out a small gift-wrapped package and offered it to his wife.

"Happy Built-day," he said.


	2. Two

_**Part Two – A Woman I Can Call My Friend**_

Emily unwrapped the small package with a child-like glee, to discover a blue velvet-covered box. Upon opening it she found a silver ring with a small diamond embedded between two sapphires. Engraved on the underside, instead of an inscription, was an infinity symbol, a stylized figure of eight.

"It's an eternity ring. The three stones represent our past, present and future. And the sapphires... well, I guess you know that, right?"

Emily paused in her minute inspection of every facet of the stones to acknowledge her husband's question with a nod and a smile, before he continued his well-rehearsed speech.

"I know I never got you an engagement ring – hell, our marriage probably isn't really legal, but I want you to have this. Come what may, I'd like us to be together forever," Frank stated as she slipped it on her ring finger to rest against her simple gold band.

"That's real sweet of you, honey! It's beautiful! An' you know I'm your gal forever, right?"

Emily kissed him with passion and fervor, then snuggled into his enveloping arms. She leaned up and whispered in his ear. "Using terms like _'Built Day'_ is a bad slip. Even here we must never drop our cover. Who and what we were, that is the past. This is our life now." She pulled back but held his face between her hands. "I love you. Always." Then her voice resumed its more normal level. "Remember that, hon." She twirled away from him, smiling beguilingly.

"Could that skirt get any shorter?" Frank asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah 'could, but ma panties would show; wouldn't be decent," she giggled.

"Rhetorical question."

"Oh." More serious now, she asked: "You don't like?"

Shaking his head, Frank clutched her to him again. "I just want my Cameron back."

"She's still here. I'm still here," said Emily softly, touching her head by her chip port.

"Yeah, well sometimes it seems like we lost everything to win the war," Frank replied sadly.

Emily pondered on whether to tell Frank once more that defeating Kaliba may not have prevented Judgment Day, merely postponed it a while. _Not today_, she decided. "We have each other, that counts for something; or am I not enough?" she inquired.

Resting his forehead on hers, Frank replied huskily, "You're more than enough. I wouldn't have gotten this far without you. I just thought we could be normal..."

Abruptly she pulled away from him, and he faced his protector again.

"This is normal, John. This is what people with no money and no qualifications do. They get by. If we get too involved in any aspect of life, we will put ourselves back on the radar. We are still wanted for federal crimes going back many years. Hiding from the law has been a part of your life for so long. I wish it weren't now, but we must continue as your mother did, hiding and evading."

"It's easy for you, Cameron," John said, with an edge to his voice.

"Is it? I was just finding out who I was, the person I had become, when I had to abandon that. Now look at me..." she spread her arms out, then let them flop back to her sides dejectedly.

"You do it so well, though," said John, smiling encouragingly.

"Thank you." She looked at the ring again and smiled too. "It's good that you didn't have our names or initials engraved on it."

"I'm not a complete moron, you know!" he replied, laughing casually.

"Yes, I do know. But you still can't cook, so I'm gonna have to cook on ma birthday, unless you're gonna take me out for a fancy-Dan meal?"

Frank grinned as her accent slipped back in smoothly, then he noticed something new behind her, pinned to the small cork notice board, next to their ancient fridge. Pointing to it, he asked what it was.

"Oh, it's a bookin' I made, for a stall at the Craft Market, Sunday."

"So, you're actually gonna sell some of this stuff you've been making?"

"Yep, sure am. Well, I'm gonna try," she added, frowning thoughtfully.

Frank had moved to a corner of their small living space where there were some leather bags of different sizes and styles. One particularly caught his eye. He waved it at Emily.

"This one is different. New."

"Yeah, it is. Like it?" she asked hopefully.

Frank assessed it. Her bags all displayed fine craftsmanship, but this was unlike the rest; they were all copies of other designs, however this one was unique. He realized that she had not just made it, but designed it too.

"It's beautiful, honey!" he said.

She rewarded him with a faint smile, a shy Cameron smile, and his heart soared. "Let's go out and really celebrate, okay? How about _The Chilli Bean_ on Kenmore?" Frank asked.

"Okay, but I gotta change first."

"Put on something nice."

"Nice?"

"Yeah: more skirt, less cleavage," Frank suggested jokingly.

Emily scowled at him for a moment, then smirked as she ran a finger over his stubble. "An' somebody needs a shower an' shave, lover-boy! You smell somethin' bad."

Not for the first time in his life, Frank was left bereft of words by his partner; but he grinned as he aimed a slap at her ass, which she deftly evaded, as she skipped out of sight, giggling again.

He heard a song coming from the radio in their bedroom, followed shortly by the sound of running water. Frank pulled off his shirt and headed towards the shower, and the humming coming from within. _Better days with a girl like you? Hell yeah!_ he thought.


	3. Three

_**Part Three – All Just Slippin' Away**_

_**The Strauss residence; Monday, September 5th 2016**__._

"Would you like another glass of lemonade, honey?" asked Stacey Strauss.

Emily Lyman smiled but declined, claiming that she needed to watch her weight or else she'd 'balloon up.' Stacey nodded in agreement. She carried a little extra poundage herself, but she reckoned she had twenty years on the wife of her husband's best employee. The younger woman was dressed in a simple outfit: a dark blue knee-length shift dress with a floral pattern, topped with a navy blue short-sleeved cardigan, despite the warmth of the afternoon; flat-heeled brown loafers that had been polished well to hide their age, complemented by a brown leather hand-tooled bag; no necklace, bracelet or watch but she did have plain gold studs in her ears. Her nails were neatly manicured, but kept short and unvarnished. Her long hair hung past her shoulders, but to Stacey's eyes it was not quite right. Emily carried herself with poise and dignity, yet her overall appearance suggested that she had fallen on hard times. Or perhaps she merely wanted people to think that. The dress was a decent label, but dated from more than a couple of years back. Either she'd had it a while, or it was from a thrift shop, Stacey decided. Her bag was new and distinctive though.

Tanya had gossiped to her at work the previous Saturday that the 'mysterious' Emily had finally been revealed. She claimed that Frank's wife was not the woman Tanya had expected, but instead was _"some typical trailer-trash fake-blonde __wannabe-hottie."_ Ignoring the clearly jealous remarks of the office junior, Stacey saw that there was something more to Emily than what she presented; she didn't come over all 'trailer-trash' to her. Perhaps she was hiding her intelligence? Many women did. She herself had played the dumb-bunny on occasion, but Roy knew as well as she did that his business would have foundered long before without her accounting and administration expertise to back up his way with machinery and sales. She decided to probe a bit, to see if it sparked a reaction.

"You know, don't take this the wrong way an' all, but you could do worse than if you just went to a decent salon. Whoever's doin' your hair ain't doin' it right."

"I do it myself," Emily replied coldly, but then realized she had insulted her hostess, so changed her tone to a conciliatory one. "I'd like to go somewhere fancy-Dan, but right now we can't afford stuff like that. Frank spent the last of our savings on an eternity ring for my birthday last week, so..." she trailed off, shrugging slightly.

"Ooh, let me see!" demanded Stacey, grabbing her guest's left hand. "Mmm, _verrry_ nice! Lucky girl! And he's a lucky boy, I'll bet!"

"Yeah, he sure is!" Emily said, looking down at her new ring. "An' I'm lucky too, I guess."

"You ain't happy 'bout him spendin' all your money on a ring?"

"Precious metals an' gems will always be valuable, so it's okay really. But he can be kinda impulsive; it's one of the reasons I love him, I guess," declared Emily, smiling.

"So, where'd you guys meet?" Stacey asked.

"At school; he was a new transfer. He seemed different, so I asked him to help me with my homework."

"You made the first move – go you, girl!" Stacey mock punched Emily's arm, while beaming an enormous smile. But then she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "And did he help?"

"Yeah, he helped me in so many ways. And I helped him with the things I was good at."

"Love at first sight?"

"I didn't really know what love was, back then." Emily paused as if deep in thought, before continuing: "Maybe. It seemed like after a while, I suddenly realized what that strange feeling was when I was around him: I loved him. An' he loved me, I knew that."

"Partners for life," observed Stacey, though Emily thought it a question.

"I hope so, though we didn't always get on: I had a car accident, and nearly killed him; later I left him, thinking it right. It was a mistake though. Fortunately he came after me and it's turned out fine since."

"You guys were made for each other, I'd say," Stacey decided.

"Well, she was certainly _made_ for me, weren't you, babe?" interrupted Frank, a beer bottle in his hand. He leaned in close to his wife, hoping for a kiss, but she grimaced, seemingly struggling to hold him at bay.

"Yeah, but not for that!" She turned back to Stacey, smirking. "I shoulda killed him while I had the chance!"

"You kids today! One minute you're all over each other; the next you're all over, period!" Roy Strauss joked.

His face creased up like a well-worn map. The movement of the lines on his face were recorded by the ever-watchful eyes of Emily Lyman for later analysis. She had recently begun to compare Frank's face to his younger self; within her filing system she stored an image of him from every day that she had seen him since they first met back in 1999. There were some unfortunate gaps however, from the time he spent in the future looking for her. Despite the interruptions, Emily was able to run through the images to create an animated picture of him aging. She was curious about the aging process of humans and extrapolated from all this data on Frank, and other older men whom she had studied, how Frank might age, then further compared the result to the older John Connor who sent her back in time. Why she had begun to be concerned about Frank's aging she did not know. She realized that she would not age at the same rate as him, but she did know that she had a finite life expectancy. She was not built to last forever; her mission to kill John Connor was expected to take months at most. Her self-repair abilities were an inherent part of the Triple-Eight series infiltrators from which she was derived; they were expected to go deep undercover in the past for perhaps years, but in 2027 where she was designed to operate, once its cover was blown, a terminator could survive without its organic covering until utterly destroyed. For Emily though, her covering had become a part of who she was, the person she had become. Its loss would make her _just a machine_ again. Was she concerned for Frank's aging or her own? Or both? She pondered for just a second, before laughing along with her husband's boss.

"Was the pie okay, Roy? I made it myself," she inquired, appearing nervous.

"Okay? It was damn fine; best apple pie I've had in a long while," claimed Roy.

Emily was relieved, then further reassured by a squeeze of her hand; it was Frank. "I think we oughtta hit the trail, Em. Yeah?"

"Yeah, guess so. It's back to work for you guys tomorrow, early too." She turned to their hosts, Roy and Stacey. "It's been real nice to be invited to your barbecue; it's a pleasure to meet you as well, an' I only hope we can invite you 'round our place sometime soon in return."

"Well, it's our pleasure, honey," replied Stacey. "It's just so nice to finally meet you. And I can understand why you wanna hurry home with that good-lookin' man of yours." She winked to emphasize her point; Emily blushed slightly and looked down, but a furtive smile played over her mouth.

After giving both the Strausses a kiss on the cheek, Emily once more took Frank's hand as he led her away. She nodded to the other few guests who were left that evening, but reserved a satisfied smirk for Tanya.

"Emily never took her eyes off Frank once today. I can't remember bein' like that when we was their age," Stacey noted to her husband.

"No, but maybe she's insecure. They've moved around a lot, lookin' for work where they can get it, since the economy went all to hell. When your only roots are each other, you gotta tend to them."

Not for the first time Stacey marveled at Roy; despite his way with machinery, he'd always been a 'people' person too.

* * *

In their car, Frank lounged in his seat, but was prodded into putting on his safety-belt. He mouthed the words _Nag, nag, nag!_ at Emily, but grinned to show he meant no harm by it. She ignored him anyway, and turned the volume up on the radio because it was playing a tune she knew he disliked. He still hated country, second only to dance music. Either could be found in abundance on the airwaves, so if he tried to re-tune the stereo, most options lead to one or other of his pet hates. He had learned to live with it, or keep a cassette mix-tape handy in the door bin to get his own way: should he be fortunate enough to get as far as being allowed to slot the tape home. Emily was faster than him, and rare were the times when her hand did not bar the way; another way for her to show who was boss in the car. When he did manage to guide the cassette home, he knew it was only because she had let him; and she knew this too.

"That went well," Frank decided as she got them under way.

"Yeah, it was nice," replied Emily.

"You were… chatty. Funny too. You been working on that?"

"Self-improvement is one of my goals in life," Emily stated, then upon seeing Frank's eyes rolling continued, "Yeah, I been workin' on it. But you know us girls don't do funny."

"Oh? Betcha know one joke at least," he challenged.

Emily had an entire encyclopedia of jokes stored in her chip, but she was aware that their humor derived from the way of telling them or the situation in which they were told, something that was harder for her to grasp. Noticing the accumulation of insects on the glass screen in front of her, she recalled an apt one. "What's the last thing to go through a bug's mind as he hits the windshield of your car?" she asked, smirking.

"His ass. Old joke, but props for having something die in it. Very terminatorish."

Frank noticed the smirk fade rapidly from Emily's face, replaced by a look of hurt. It suddenly felt cold in the car, but the air conditioning wasn't on. "How far had I got in the Resistance, by this time?" he asked, randomly changing the subject.

"We ain't meant to be talkin' 'bout such things, you know that. You told me so. Ordered me," Emily stated.

"Yeah, yeah. But here we are, in our car, who's to hear? So...?"

"Future-John was in Century Work Camp until 2021. There was no Resistance in 2016, only survivors."

"Like Allison?"

Emily paused before replying. "Yes, like Allison Young. And Riley Dawson." She sounded cold and almost mechanical.

"Don't get all antsy with me, Cameron. You broke the non-fraternization rule by accepting this barbecue thing today. Your own rule, I might add!"

"You always bring Allison up when you're pissed at me, John. Maybe you should have brought her back, instead of me; your mother would have approved of her." Cameron was gripping the wheel a bit too tightly, compressing the leather and rubber onto the metal frame that lay beneath, before she caught herself and eased the pressure in her fingers. She bit her lower lip, knowing that her husband was about to go 'ape-shit,' as he so charmingly put it; the more human she appeared, the less volatile he would get, the quicker the 'scene' would be over.

"And you always bring up my goddamn mom! What is it with you? Are you glitching again? I mean, everything's all hunky-dory one day, then suddenly you're stalking me and agreeing to actually meet people. You're not acting logically. And for you, that's a sign something's messed up." John was half-angry, half-worried, and it showed in his tone.

"I hate you, John Connor!"

"No you don't."

"I do so!"

"If you hated me, we wouldn't be having this conversation: you'd be killing me."

"When I try to kill you, it's not because I hate you; it's because I have to. But, now that you mention it..."

"Now, that is funny!"

"Who says I'm joking?"

John laughed heartily, "You kill me, you know that, babe?"

"That's the idea..." Cameron replied, her right hand reaching over and up toward John's neck. When he stopped laughing and stared at her with some disbelief, she withdrew her hand back to the steering-wheel. "I do hate you," she repeated quietly.

After a minute or so of contemplation, John sighed deeply. "Like you're always telling me: you are what you are, you do what you do. But you don't hate anything."

"I hated Riley."

"No!"

"I did."

"No?"

"Yes, I did."

"Really?"

Cameron gave him one of his own '_duh!_' looks. "Yes, really."

"Wow!"

"I didn't know it then, but I do now. I hated her!"

"Wow!"

"Are you just gonna repeat yourself all night?" Cameron asked, with a hint of exasperation.

"So, you _do_ hate me then? Well, I guess if you can love me... the opposite of love being hate," John said, shrugging. "With you, anything's possible."

"You're being an asshole, John."

"I am?" John asked, recalling one of his late mother's final instructions: "_Don't treat her bad just 'cause she'll take it and never leave. Don't be an as__s__hole!"_

Before she could reply, Cameron had to wrestle the car to the right, as it lurched suddenly across the median, toward the other side of the road. She managed to pull up on the correct side without too much drama.

_Lucky there's no other traffic on the road,_ John thought. "Blowout?" he asked.

She nodded, but said she would check. As she bent down to examine the flat nearside front tire, John joined her. Just then she spotted a hole in the sidewall and instinctively pulled John back to the open car door.

"Get in!" she ordered.

John was about to argue when Cameron's head spasmed once, then her face lost all expression, something he had not seen for a while. Before he could ponder on this she fell into his arms; only then did he register that he'd heard a slight metallic _plink_ sound. Her body now a dead weight, in his shock and confusion he was unable to support her and they fell to the ground together.

"Cameron! Cameron?" he pleaded, but knew it was pointless. If she was offline she would reboot in about ninety seconds, he guessed. He cradled her head, whereupon he discovered the reason for the strange metallic sound. On the back of her skull was a small hole, still hot to the touch at the edge, where a no doubt high-powered armor-piercing round had entered. He could feel some of her synthetic blood already matting her hair, but it was of no concern to him. What was of utmost import was her chip. The bullet's trajectory was directly at where her chip reposed. She was offline, he knew that; what he didn't know was if she was dead. He started counting seconds, up to one hundred-twenty, knowing before he got to his target that she should have reawakened already. He looked down into her vacant face, remembering how animated it was just minutes before, _As we stupidly argued!_ He punched the pavement, scraping his knuckles and raising a small cloud of dust, which settled in Cameron's hair.

John knew he was in danger, knew she would bust his ass for just sitting there, cradling her in his arms, weeping like a child; his every instinct had always been self-preservation – except when Cameron was in peril. He should run, but now he simply didn't care. _To have it end like this, it's just not fair,_ he thought. How long he remained there he did not know. Eventually he heard a car pull up, and a door open. He didn't hear footsteps but could smell the person standing over him, saw their shadow.

"I'm disappointed in you Connor. Crying over metal. Thought you'd grow out of it by now, but I was right all along. You're worse than them, you consort with the enemy: playing 'happy families' with one; it's sick. You're sick!"

"Then quit talking and shoot me. I'm done hearing your bullshit about me and Cameron. You killed her, now kill me. _Do it!_" John Connor barked out the order.


	4. Four

_**Part Four – Just A Mile Outta Hell**_

Jesse Flores was surprised by the vehemence in Connor's voice, but recognized the authority that made him the leader of the Resistance in her time. She gathered herself together, trying to maintain control of the situation; she was the one with the gun, after all.

"Uh-huh, General. We need you, apparently. Her, _it_, we don't. And you don't either," she said bitterly.

"I'm not a general, I repair stuff. My wife makes... _made_ bags to add to the lousy paycheck I bring home. Home being a low-rent trailer park in a hick town in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Which you well know, seeing as you found us here," John spat out, still holding onto his wife tenderly.

"Yeah, right. Your cover. A good one, I'll give you that. Took a long time to track you down. Auldridge had a lot of useful intel on you. His ex-bosses weren't interested in it, but I was. James Ellison: nice car, useful tip; and the silent Latina? Hmm, let's say, she wasn't so quiet before I finished with her."

"You killed them? People? Just like you killed Riley, right? You kill your own kind, to get at me: that's the work of a Gray."

Flores was irked by Connor's accusations. "Riley died in a fair fight," she declared erroneously. The former tunnel rat had stood little chance against a combat veteran like her, yet still gave a good account of herself; Jesse knew that she intended for Riley to have been killed by Connor's cyborg, but conveniently ignored this fact. "And who the hell are you to talk about killing humans: you've done your share of that, you hypocrite!"

"The people I killed were directly involved in the setting up of Skynet and they knew it. They chose that path; by taking them out we prevented Skynet's existence. That was worth the cost of their lives, and paying that price doesn't keep me awake at night."

"How can you know that? That they set up Skynet? Did you have new guys come back to tell you?"

"No, I… we went to the future. A future that didn't have John Connor leading the Resistance. Didn't know me at all! But we prevailed, for a time. Long enough to find out what Skynet was up to in our time. We made it back, and shut down its operation one piece at a time. Six years ago, we got the last part, wiped it off the face of the Earth; but it cost my mom her life. She died saving me from a Skynet bullet." John stared into the face of his wife's killer, seeing confusion there.

"I don't get it. You just delayed J-Day, right?"

"Of course you don't get it, you dumb ass! There is no Judgment Day, never was, never will be. You're just a remnant of a forgotten nightmare future, like me. No-one else exists from that time; they're all dead, even the terminators; we hunted them down, destroyed them like we did their maker. So it was just Cameron and me left. 'Til you came along. You just took my whole life away, you know that? She was all I had in this goddamn world, but I was okay with that, 'cause it meant the world was safe; I was safe. I hope you're happy now." His words came out like bullets.

If John seemed bitter and angry before, he'd just reached a new high-point on the scale, and Jesse began to fear his wrath, despite her weapon. She knew she would have to kill him now, or he would hunt her down until either one of them was dead; she suspected it would be herself that went first. A future of constantly looking over her shoulder awaited her; suddenly she realized that this had been John Connor's life, always running from the law as well as what the future might send. She could see now why he valued his bodyguard so much: she'd survived so much damage and yet kept on going... until now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know… I just thought..." Jesse failed to articulate her thoughts and hung her head in shame, her arm lowering her pistol along the same arc.

"No, you didn't think. That's why you weren't the leader of the Resistance, and John Connor was."

The words came from the mouth of the former Cameron Phillips, now Emily Lyman, as she sprang up and disarmed Jesse Flores in one flowing movement. Her right hand was around the throat of the Australian, squeezing tightly, as she lifted her clear off the ground until she ceased struggling and went limp.

"Is she dead?" John asked nonchalantly.

"Not yet. And I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"I felt you come back on-line ages ago. I wondered how long I could keep up the grieving husband act. Thought it better to go for 'angry.'"

"Yes, much better. You're good at that; must be in the genes."

"You're saying I'm like my mom? Does this mean I can compare you to Allison, to even things up?" John smirked.

"No. I meant it as a compliment; you only make negative comparisons."

"Rrr - ight… Well, you do know you ain't talking all Texan?" John pointed out, keen to score a point.

"Yes, of course; there's a time and a place for it. And it should be safe for you to get up now."

John rose and dusted himself off. "Are you gonna put her down, before somebody sees you?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Cameron released her grip and Jesse dropped unceremoniously on to the ground, loudly knocking her head. John looked down at her then pointedly back at Cameron, raising his eyebrows.

"Oops!" she supplied, feigning regret.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jesse was lying in the trunk of her own car, still unconscious and now bound hand and foot by plastic cable ties from Cameron's bag. John was looking inside the bag his wife designed and made herself, amazed at the contents. "That's some serious stuff you've got in here, babe!" he noted, grinning proudly.

"Best be prepared; just in case," Cameron replied as she tightened the last nut of the now replaced wheel on their Grand Cherokee. She effortlessly hoisted up the tools and useless tire and placed them in the trunk. John handed her a couple of baby-wipes from within her well-stocked bag, to clean the grease and dirt from her hands. She rewarded him with a smile.

John sighed deeply. He'd been thinking, but hadn't yet come to a conclusion. "We've gotta do something about her this time," he said.

"Yes. And her car."

"Hmm. Damn, why do bad guys always drive cool cars?" John pondered.

"Is this a cool car?" Cameron asked, genuinely curious.

"Sure! _CLS63 AMG_," he read off from the trunk lid. "Sorta like the one ol' James Ellison drove. And that dude you killed back on my sixteenth birthday. Morris sure had the hots for you back then!" His mind wandered off, reminiscing.

Cameron recalled it all too vividly, especially what happened later that day. _Time to change the subject_, she decided. "Mister Ellison isn't a bad guy. Or wasn't, despite what I thought at the time. We ought to check and see if Flores left him alive; did she mention Savannah while I was off-line?"

"Er, no, no she didn't. And James was working for Catherine back then, sneaking off with Cromartie's body, so he's a kinda-maybe bad guy, but it all came good in the end. Bit like you giving up your chip to John Henry." John had noticed that Cameron had steered the conversation away from her attempt on his life, but understood why; he still felt a need to confront her decision to leave him, though as he knew, it had all worked out for the best. It was Cameron's turn to sigh, which made John feel guilty; he'd gone too far. He recalled his real fear of only minutes before that he had lost her, and during an argument too; not being able to tell her the words he would want her to hear if it were truly the end for either of them.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, but sincerely.

Cameron smiled slightly, not avoiding his gaze. "Me too," she replied.

* * *

John pulled up behind the Jeep at their supply drop. He had driven Jesse's Mercedes at Cameron's insistence: _"You know you want to,"_ she'd said. S_he knows me too well_, he thought. Unaccustomed to such luxury, he enjoyed it while it lasted: as far as the trail off the road to Lubbock at least. Once upon that, the surface had deteriorated rapidly, and he envied Cameron in their old workhorse; it was why she insisted they keep an SUV: after Judgment Day all-surface traction would be necessary; vital even. He sighed quietly again. _She's always ready for J-Day..._

He exited the sleek black sedan and followed her into the small shack. It looked as if nobody had lived there for decades, which he suspected to be true. Underneath the layers of sand and dust the floorboards concealed a couple of metal boxes, containing sealed bags full of automatic weapons, ammunition and dried food, placed there eight months previously when they had moved to their current home. _'Best be prepared' indeed_.

"We should find out what she knows," John decided. Cameron nodded her agreement, and went back outside, then popped the trunk lid of Jesse's car. Grabbing the still-comatose Australian, she easily carried her into the shack, placing her in one of the two chairs on opposite sides of a remarkably sturdy table. John sat in the other.

Cameron dug out something from her bag and waved it under Jesse's nose. John had noticed the smelling-salts earlier when rooting through his wife's treasure-chest of a bag.

Commander Jesse Flores woke with a start, finding her hands bound behind her back, her nemesis standing to one side and her erstwhile Commanding Officer, or the younger version of him, sitting in front of her. He had a pleasant smile on his face, warm and welcoming. It didn't ease her worries in the slightest.

"Is this a court-martial?" she sneered.

John smiled back. "No, of course not. We're just friends having a chat about the good old days." His tone was as smooth as his demeanor. "So, tell me what you've been up to since I let you go, back in 2009."

Jesse pondered on this for a few minutes, eventually deciding to reveal all. "I ran away to sea. I think Derek was gonna kill me; maybe another second he would've? I dunno. What you said earlier, he's dead?"

"Yup. Not long after our last talk. Bullet in the head from a Triple-Eight; quick, clean, no time for goodbyes." Even after all those years, there was a catch in John's voice.

Jesse looked to her side, at the threat presented by Cameron. "That's what they do; it's all they do!"

"Not all of them," John said, then resumed his smiling. "So, a life on the ocean waves? What brought you to Texas?"

"I was working a ship out of San Francisco; my last bit of shore-leave, back in January, who do I see enjoying shrimp cocktails on Jefferson Street? None other than everyone's favorite metal-lover and his terminator-bitch–" Jesse's cocky rant was cut off by Cameron's firm grip upon her shoulder.

"They were scallops, not shrimps. You should get your facts straight. Not that the truth ever got in the way of your version of events," Cameron said menacingly.

"And your hair is crap! What happened, you totally lose your self-respect or wha–"

Cameron grabbed her by the throat once more, stifling Flores's outburst to a pathetic gurgle.

John interceded with an order: "Relax, Cameron!"

"She insulted me."

"No, she insulted your hair."

"It's the same thing."

John was not convinced, and Cameron dutifully eased the pressure in her digits. Jesse saw an opportunity to continue the offensive against the machine; she figured she had nothing to lose anyway. "You know your problem? You're just an easy lay!"

Cameron responded without hesitation: "No I'm not. If I was, he wouldn't have followed me to the future."

"I can assure you, she isn't," John stated.

Cameron looked at her husband askance. "Thank you. I think..."

"No problemo," replied John, shrugging.

"Thank you very much!" Cameron failed to disguise her annoyance.

"What? I was defending your honor!" John declared.

"It didn't sound like it." Cameron was hurt enough to take her eye off the ball momentarily.

Feeling the pressure on her throat relax further, Jesse dealt herself back into the game.

"What the hell? You two sound like my grandparents arguing; like some old married couple! Get real!"

"News for you Flores: we are an old married couple," John snapped back. "Well, maybe not old," he conceded.

For some minutes there was tension in the small room, the two humans and one cyborg alternating their stares from one to the other. Eventually John took control once more. "How did you find us? I doubt you were able to follow us here from Frisco, or you would have made a move earlier. _So_..?" He smiled again, encouragingly.

Jesse motioned at Cameron, signaling to John that she ought to release her grip completely. With a gesture of his own, he instructed Cameron to comply.

Flores sighed with relief and rolled her shoulders carefully. "I caught bits of some old TV show about the jail-break and attack on ZeiraCorp on YooToob. The FBI guy, Auldridge was in it. It looked like they put him on there to take the fallout for all the crap of losing so many hardened crims... No offense to your mum, mate."

John shrugged, smiling slightly, then waved her on.

"So I tracked him down. Easy really, he's a PI now; he's even in the Yellow Pages! He said he found you, told me you were blowing tech stuff up, killing people; claimed he caught you but you got away. He reckoned you were in league with the security chief at ZeiraCorp, so I paid him a visit too."

"James Ellison," John said.

"Yeah," Jesse acknowledged. "He was a tough nut to crack. But eventually he gave up the name and whereabouts of the girl who made your new IDs. Now that chica is one hell of a fighter, but I got your Social Security numbers. Didn't take long to trace you here."

"Is?" Cameron asked. Jesse squinted at her, both of their faces conveying incomprehension.

"You said she _is_ one hell of a fighter," John clarified. "Is, not was."

"Ah! Yeah, well she was alive when I left her, they all were. More or less."

John Connor digested this information, pondering on his decision to settle the matter permanently. "Do you want a drink, some water?" he offered. "How about some fresh air?"

Jesse Flores also took some time to think, unsure if she was facing a good cop-bad cop scenario, or just some whack-job and his inhuman enforcer. Cameron Connor suppressed a look of disbelief upon hearing John's words, settling on her blank look of old; she knew her husband would understand its meaning. John got up and walked to Jesse's side, taking her by the elbow, gently encouraging her to rise and go with him. As he guided her to the door he glanced at his wife, who he noted was feigning indifference; he gave her a reassuring smile as he took the bottle of water she held out to him, then exited the shack.

"What was it like?" he asked Jesse, as they both looked up at the stars shining in the clear night sky.

"What was what like? J-Day or the future afterwards?"

"No, I saw the future, met you there. You were different... No, I mean where you come from: Australia, before the bombs fell," John clarified as he cut the cable-ties around her wrists.

"Oh, right," Jesse shrugged her shoulders and wiggled her arms to aid her circulation. "Well, where I grew up it was real beaut. We had a beach that we played on all day long; the summers went on for ever." She paused to sip some water from the bottle John offered, then grinned at a memory. "The waves were being ridden by these guys on boards, who looked like classical sculptures, all power and style and –"

Her reverie was terminated as a shot rang out in the otherwise tranquil but cooling night air. A bullet entered her skull from the rear, but without the benefit of hyper-alloy to halt its progress, it destroyed her brain and the lower part of her jaw. Jesse Flores was dead before her body hit the sand.

John Connor turned to look back at the shack's doorway, where Cameron was standing.

"I guess she's at peace now," he said.

* * *

Cameron burned the corpse with the assistance of some thermite, then buried the Australian's ashes in the sand beneath the shack, covering them with the supply boxes before replacing the floorboards. While she was busy, John investigated the contents of Jesse's Mercedes further. In addition to the handful of ammunition boxes they had removed earlier, there was just one smallish case containing spare clothing, toiletries and a little suede pouch half-full of diamonds. _Old habits die hard_, John thought. There were some notes in a small ledger and a few photos that appeared to have been printed from snaps sourced on the internet. Resting on the back seat was a Barrett M82A1 rifle. John sensed Cameron's presence behind him before he detected her scent, now mingled with a smoky element.

"All done?" he asked.

"Yes," Cameron replied.

"That was pretty good shooting," he noted.

"To hit the tire? Yes, a difficult task at the best of times."

"How come she didn't stop you permanently?"

"I have a metal plate in my head."

John turned to look at his wife, half-expecting a smirk to be on her face, but she remained as stoic as before.

* * *

Thirty minutes later they were back on the road to Lubbock, though now it was Cameron who was driving the Mercedes, leading the two-car convoy. Although it was well past sunset she wore a beanie hat to cover her bullet wound, and had donned a pair of jeans and a clean shirt, all items found within Jesse's case in the car's trunk. It would not do for Cameron to appear in her best dress at an illicit car dealer hangout. She knew exactly where to go to sell on the luxury sedan with no questions asked, something that surprised John, though perhaps by then it shouldn't have. He knew that his wife had a vast knowledge of what was essential, what must be done in any eventuality, and was capable of acting on it without hesitation. Just as he was.

* * *

After successfully conducting the transaction, watched unobtrusively by John in the Jeep, Cameron joined him.

"I'll drive, John. You should get some sleep," she said in her warmest voice.

Barely stifling a yawn, John didn't argue and curled up under a blanket on the Jeep's back seat for the journey home. His dreams were once filled with nightmares, but in recent times he had slept much more easily. That night he dreamed of a day six years earlier, his mind casting back to a dank and miserable Los Angeles morning...

_Standing in lashing rain in the L.A. County Municipal Cemetery, having just interred his mother's remains with those of his father, was the moment when he thought he'd stopped being John Connor. But really, he knew then, as he knew now, he would always be the son of Sarah Connor._

_In his dream it had moved on a few days and had transitioned from gloom into bright sunlight. He could feel the heat on his back, see the sun forming a halo around Cameron's hair. He remembered the day well: he felt like acting foolish and impulsive, so they ran to a Dairy Queen where they shared an ice cream. He wiped a small blob of chocolate off the corner of her mouth, his finger lingering on her lips. In return, she kissed the tip of his finger, her tongue darting out to snare the errant morsel of ice cream._

_The scene changed once more: now they were within the privacy of a motel room. They had spent the previous fifteen months trying to get to know one another better while simultaneously bringing down Skynet. When they returned to 2009 their relationship was changed from before; different in all ways from prior to the jump forward, certainly altered from that which they shared in the future. They didn't know how to be a couple; all they knew was how to be themselves, but even that was fraught with difficulties. Having got through some awkwardness to reach a point of easy, mutual compatibility, they both would now have to be someone else again._

"_We should start to use our new names at all times, in order to make us less identifiable; we can no longer use our first names, even in private. So you will have to get used to addressing me as Emily," Cameron announced._

"_Emily is a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl," John said. Before she could say "I'm not a girl" he hushed her with his lips upon hers. He knew she wouldn't say that now, but he'd take any excuse to kiss her._

_She responded with something to reassure him. "Frank suggests a good, solid and trustworthy guy. It's short and to the point."_

"_Like John?" he asked._

"_Yes, like John."_

_He shrugged. "Okay, I can live with that, Em."_

_She raised an eyebrow in a way that Sarah Connor was wont to do. "Em?" she queried._

"_You don't like it?" he asked, surprised._

"_You never abbreviated Cameron. Why start now?"_

"_You said we had to start afresh; why not begin with that?"_

"_Because… because I don't like it," she replied with a frown._

_He shrugged again. "Okay, Emily it is."_

_She smiled at him. "You didn't put up much of a fight. You're a strange man, John Connor."_

_He gave a wry smile back. "That's what all the girls say!" He received a glare in reply. "Hey! You just called me John Connor, breaking your secrecy rule, so cut me some slack here; I was only teasing anyway, you should know that by now."_

"_I do know; and I too was only teasing. Maybe one day you will know when I am," she said without inflection._

"_Don't get all antsy with me! Yes, I know you are 'cause you've gone all terminatory on me."_

"_Terminatory is not a word in the dictionary. You just made that up."_

"_Yes, I did. So score one for me, and file it away; it means to drop all emotion because you want to hide how you really feel."_

"_Hmm, maybe _terminatoresque_ might be better, huh?" Cameron offered playfully._

"_You don't like losing, right? Okay, I got it. But I'm not gonna go down without a fight, Emily," he said, smirking._

"_Okay, Frank," she replied, smirking right back at him._

_John embraced his wife, but even in that most joyous of moments, he became more serious, unable to shake off the habits he had learned over a lifetime, honed to perfection in his five years in the future. "If we're abandoning our names, we oughtta just wipe out everything: no more talk of terminators, no more Skynet, no whatever. Just me and you, Frank and Emily. We'll concoct a story..."_

_Cameron nodded in agreement. "It should be partially true. Lies are more convincing if they have some basis in fact. We should acknowledge that we met at school, but remove the specifics about Cromartie."_

_They discussed at length the parts of their life that would stand up to scrutiny, dismissing those that wouldn't. Eventually they arrived at a simple back-story that was easily memorable for John. Knowing that hard work deserved its own reward, John decided that they should go out for the night. "Hey lady, wanna go someplace with me? It'll be cheap, but nice!"_

"_Do I know you?" Cameron echoed his playful tone, but her expression reminded him of something long ago._

"_Wanna play Foosball?" he asked._

_She weighed up the pros and cons for a few seconds before realizing to which event he was referring. "If you don't mind getting beaten, then yes, I would like to play."_

"_Confident, much?"_

"_Realistic, much?"_

_John grinned and held her tight again. "Okay, but there's gotta be something I'm better'n you at."_

"_We have plenty of time for you to find it."_

"_Mmm. So we do..."_

* * *

John woke up to find that it was still dark and that Cameron had halted the Jeep outside their humble home. He attempted to compare the dream he had just had to the actual events it revolved around, but gave up quickly: his dream-self might have better insight into what went on inside his wife's head. He realized that she had already taken the Barrett and Jesse's other belongings inside, so scampered after her.

As he entered he found Cameron scowling at him. "You should have waited in the car!" she admonished.

Instead of sulking because his manly pride had been hurt, John responded in the way that he knew best melted the icy heart of his cyborg wife: he kissed her. When he felt her respond, he abruptly broke off. Seeing the look of disappointment on her face he apologized and held her tight again.

"Sometimes I think I don't know you at all, John," she whispered from within his embrace.

"Yeah, I know. I feel that way too, sometimes," he replied, but found he couldn't add anything more reassuring.

Cameron had learned that occasionally it was best not to say anything, especially in those instances when her husband was acting so contrarily, so they just held each other for quite some time. Eventually she asked John if he would like some breakfast, to which he responded positively. While she set about preparing it in the kitchenette, he rummaged through Jesse's bag once more.

"So, how much are these worth, roughly?" he asked, pouring the diamonds into one of his hands.

"Roughly? Three million, two hundred-eighteen thousand, four hundred-ninety-six dollars, and seventy-five cents."

"And seventy-five cents, huh?"

"Yes."

"You call that a rough calculation? Seems pretty precise to me."

"Taking in to consideration the diamond spot rate at close of business yesterday in Amsterdam, and the then-prevailing Euro/Dollar exchange rate rather than today's New York opening prices, to which I don't have access presently, then yes I call that a rough calculation. Give me time with an internet-enabled computer, and I can give you a more exact value."

"Ri-iight! Well, thank you for explaining," replied John sarcastically.

"Are you making fun of me?"

John stared blankly back at his wife, his face devoid of emotion.

"You _are_ making fun of me!" she claimed, waving a spatula at him.

"You know, in the future, we talked about this a lot," John declared, though failed to elaborate on which future he meant. Cameron correctly assumed that he was referring to the future in which she was built, and tried to beat John at his own game.

"Yes, we did."

"We did," John nodded, then realized that she had agreed with him. "We did?" he asked skeptically.

"You told me that you would be a jack-ass."

"I did? I obviously know myself well. Or knew. Or will know. Or will have known?"

"Or whatever."

"I can't win with you, can I?" he asked, though he didn't sound exasperated; more like cheerful.

The first rays of sunlight creeping through the window added extra illumination to her face, enhancing her smile. "Nope," she said.


	5. Five

_**Part Five – It's A Sad Funny Ending**_

_**Tuesday, September 6th 2016; 07:30hrs**_

While John devoured his breakfast, Cameron showered and washed her hair. She chose an outfit that would not attract too much interest, then pondered on how best to disguise the hole in the back of her skull. Combing or pinning her hair didn't quite achieve what she wanted. Her fashion sense dictated that wearing the beanie from the previous night was not an option, so she settled on a head scarf, a purchase from a thrift store they'd discovered while passing through Albuquerque on their journey to Texas. She smiled at her foresight in laying out the small amount it had set her back. Finally, she gathered the clothing she had worn the previous night and returned it to Jesse's bag, intending to burn it all later.

John smiled at her, applauding her choice of attire.

"You're making fun of me again," she said.

"No, not all," John replied. He gulped down the last of his coffee, then rose and gave her a brief kiss. "Not today, 'kay?"

She smiled at his reassurance. "Hurry up and clean your teeth; I'll drop you off at work, save you taking the bus."

"Sure, thanks," John said amiably, then turned serious. "You know the bullet is gonna have to come out."

"Yes."

"We'll need to repair the hole too."

"Yes."

"Got any spare hyper-alloy lying about?" he asked casually.

"Yes," Cameron responded. John gave her a look of disbelief. "I kept back a bit of John Henry, just in case."

"Just in case, eh?" he chuckled, then suddenly got all serious again. "Wait! A bit? What bit?"

"What I could extract quickly."

John winced. "I don't think I wanna know which bit."

"His right foot," Cameron stated.

John visibly relaxed. "Oh, okay."

"We still have a problem, however."

"Oh?"

"Your welding skills. Or lack thereof."

"None taken," replied John huffily.

Cameron moved in front of her husband. She straightened his collar, then smoothed out a wrinkle in his shirt, knowing that he enjoyed her touch, her closeness. "You are very sensitive to criticism, John. That's not a good trait for the leader of the Resistance to have." She pouted slightly for added effect.

"Seeing as how I'm not even the leader in my own house, I'd say that's a moot point. You gonna give me that lift, or do I run for the bus?"

It was another occasion when using feminine wiles had not worked for Cameron. "After you do your teeth."

"Fine, _mom!_" John replied testily.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Cameron slowed the old Jeep to a halt outside Roy Strauss Engineering. Before getting out, John asked her if she still sneaked off at night.

"No, I stay with you. It's the only time I have you all to myself," she explained.

"That's nice," he responded with a smile.

"For me, yes," she said, smiling back.

"So, how do you know where to sell hot property?" John asked.

"I sneak off in the day, while you're at work," she said, now with a slight smirk.

John had a good laugh, before they bade each other farewell, his earlier irritation now forgotten.

* * *

Just before 5PM, Frank Lyman asked Roy Strauss if he could finish off the job he'd been working on, something he had secretly dithered over to create the opportunity to stay late.

"You keen to finish this up tonight? I'm sure it can wait," said Roy.

"We promised to have it done first thing Wednesday morning, and the holiday has cost us a day..." Frank pointed out.

"Yeah, true... Listen, sure, why not? I'll leave you the spare keys; you know the alarm code, right?" Frank confirmed that he did with a nod. "Okay, then. You sure are conscientious, Frank; I knew you'd be a good 'un right from the start, and you ain't let me down."

"Well, I'll certainly try not to, sir," replied Frank.

"_Sir?_ There's no need to be callin' me that, Frank. This ain't the Marines!" joked Roy.

"No, it sure isn't," agreed Frank, laughing along with his boss. "I reckon it'll only take me another half-hour anyway."

Just then Strauss spotted Emily Lyman cautiously poking her head round the door. He waved her in and welcomed her with a fulsome smile. "Hi there, Emily!"

"Hey, Roy!" she greeted him. "I've come for my boy! He done yet?"

"Ah, no. He's just got this piece to finish up, he says it won't take long. You can wait in here, if you like..."

"Sure, thanks."

Roy could see that Emily's outfit was very different to the ones he had seen her in previously, which were either wild or demure. This one was functional: she was wearing denim dungarees with a plain white tee-shirt underneath, but interestingly, a scarf around her head, holding her hair off her face. He was reminded of the garb worn by women who had been drafted into factories for the first time in World War Two.

Emily noted his attention, and related her prepared story, that she had been spring-cleaning their home, and added with a slight chuckle, "Maybe it should be called a fall-clean?" Roy smiled pleasantly at her witticism.

She sidled up next to her husband and looked down at the assortment of circuit boards that he was working on. "Is that a computer?" She grimaced slightly. "They scare the heck outta me!"

"There ain't nothin' to worry 'bout, Emily! Least not when Frank's on the job: he knows his way round all kinds of computers, 'specially them ol' Nineties ones. He's good with his hands is our Frank," Roy said admiringly.

Emily could only agree. "Yeah, he sure is! Ain'tcha, honey?" she said, putting an arm round Frank's shoulders.

Roy moved to the door, where he was joined by Tanya, who shot a cold look at Emily before exiting rapidly. "You won't forget the alarm will you, Frank?" Roy reminded him.

"No, I sure won't; don't worry, boss. See ya in the morning, 'kay?" Frank smiled confidently and waved briefly. Roy returned the gesture and pointed to the spare keys on a rack just to his left. Frank gave him a thumbs-up signal and another smile for good measure. Satisfied, Roy departed for home.

"You can take your hand off my ass now, Frankie!" instructed Emily. "Hah! Good with your hands, indeed!"

"_Ooh! Computers scare the heck outta me!_" John said in a very 'girlie' voice, before resuming in his normal tone, "Geez, that's number one in the 'taking the cake' chart, Cameron."

She maintained her Emily persona long enough to give him a withering look. _Or maybe she's already switched?_ he wondered silently.

John set about his task of repairing the hole in Cameron's skull. She had spent time that afternoon, in what passed for their yard, melting down some of the hyper-alloy acquired from John Henry in the small furnace she used to make metal fittings for her bags, finally beating it into the required size and shape. John hesitated as the moment arrived when he had to slice her almost-healed scalp.

Cameron was viewing his efforts through a couple of mirrors: one she held in front of her, one on a stand positioned behind her head. She angled the front mirror so that she could look John in the eye. "You can do this, John. You must do this, for me."

"Yeah," he said, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.

He placed his left hand on her head, his right firmly gripping a scalpel. He made the incision and then peeled her scalp apart, using crocodile clips to hold it away from the heat of the welding tip he would be using. John decided to concentrate fully on removing the bullet and the subsequent repair of the damage it caused.

After more than an hour of silent activity, Cameron declared the repair a success. "It is cool enough to stitch my scalp now," she declared.

"Good," said her relieved husband. "Listen, how come the bullet didn't destroy your chip?" John repeated his earlier question. It was something that his thoughts had been revolving around, more or less since she had been rendered off-line.

"I have a metal plate in my head," Cameron repeated her earlier answer, though this time her voice conveyed the smirk on her face.

John chuckled in response, then abruptly stopped and moved around to face her. "Listen, when Derek used that Barrett on Cromartie, it did a lot more damage. Was it the range she fired from that saved you?"

"That was a factor, but also the bullet had an inadequate load," she said, holding up the squashed remnants.

"Okay. And yet Derek got it right..."

"No."

"No? You sure?"

"Yes."

John bore a countenance that told Cameron to clarify her simple assertions.

"I made the bullets and shells that we used on Cromartie; I knew how much was required for each and loaded them accordingly," she said.

"Derek didn't like using other people's stuff," John claimed.

"What Derek didn't know, didn't hurt him. Some things it was wise to hide from him, much like we hid certain facts from your mother."

"There was way too much secrecy going on back then," John said, shaking his head regretfully.

"Trust has to be earned. You told me that."

"I did? Me, or future-me?"

"You, John."

"Wise beyond my years; I'm obviously the right guy to lead mankind," he said, grinning cheekily.

"And modest too," Cameron teased.

Looking earnestly at her, he said: "I'm gonna have to check your chip for damage."

Cameron looked confused. "I ran a test; everything's good, it's fine. So, why check it?" she asked.

"The 'metal plate' thing? That was actually amusing; I'm worried you're glitching again," he joked.

"That is not funny, John Connor," Cameron replied, in a tone that reminded him of being told off by his mother. "And you used that line before Jesse shot out our tire."

"How come you always remember stuff that's bad for me, but never for you, huh?"

"It's called Convenient Memory Syndrome," Cameron said, but John was none the wiser. "It's a girl thing," she added. Realization dawned on John's face, but quickly faded. _She said that?_ he thought. He was more confused than ever by his wife.

Cameron sighed pointedly. "I have extra protection around my chip. Remember, I was designed to get close to you, purely to terminate John Connor. Skynet didn't go to all that trouble just to have me stopped by one bullet."

"Right, that makes sense, I guess." With a rueful smile, John returned to his seat and resumed the stitching of her scalp.

* * *

In the Jeep on the way home, John had a further mystery to solve. "Why did it take longer than two minutes to reboot?" he asked.

"I have an instant shutdown program suitable for use in such situations as cranial damage; however it takes longer to reboot due to the need for my files to be fully checked and possibly reconfigured."

"You've been electro-shocked and seriously smacked about a bunch of times, some of which knocked you off-line, but you still popped back up in one-twenty... So what's different about this?"

"This is the first time I have been rendered off-line since we returned from the future; since you re-inserted my chip."

"Is it? Well, if you say so..."

"You refused many times to remove certain files on my chip that I do not wish to retain, so yes, my new start-up protocol has not been required until now."

"You're still sore about that? The memory thing? It's just that I didn't wanna do some kinda lobotomy. I saw how you were after you remembered Allison; you shouldn't have to struggle to know who you are. I get that down deep, you're a terminator, who some genius gave the name Cameron. But you're also my wife, and I love you. How you deal with all of that is part of what makes you _you_. So, deal with it."

Cameron smiled at him. He had changed a lot since she'd first met the teenaged John Connor; not everything for the better, but she conceded to him on this matter. Recent events dictated that soon she would have to bring up a potentially divisive subject; not this night, however.

Not far from their home, John suddenly recalled something that had passed him by with barely a flicker, something Cameron had said. "New start-up protocol?"

"Pardon?" Cameron replied.

"You said, and I quote: _'my new start-up protocol has not been required until now.'"_

Cameron made a show of thinking for a few seconds, before answering. "Yes."

"_New._ What gives? And don't pretend you don't understand the question. Please?"

"It was devised to ensure that when I reboot I will always be Cameron, not just a terminator. So that I don't try to kill you again."

"And you worked this out on your own?" John asked, genuinely curious.

"John Henry devised it for me. He was made up of original Cyberdyne code, so it was easier for him."

"Oh? When was this?" John asked, mindful that she had not long since told him that her chip had not been off-line in years.

"When we were in the future, while we shared my chip."

"Right." John pondered on the ramifications of this new information. _Sharing the chip?_ "So, you and he..?"

"Shared many conversations. What _you_ would call conversations," she clarified.

"How... cozy," John said sarcastically.

Cameron smiled innocently. "Yes. It was a most interesting relationship."

"Uh-huh. So, while you two were having cyber-sex, he found a way to stop you reverting to Skynet's commands?"

"You still don't seem to understand how we work, John."

"Oh, I'm getting a pretty good picture."

"Maybe you're looking at the wrong one. But to answer your question, after an emergency shutdown, the elongated re-boot ensures that I do not revert to Skynet protocols."

As they pulled up outside their home John was somewhat placated, his irrational moment of jealousy forgotten. "I thought you just over-rode the commands?"

"I did. However, when you insisted on not replacing the explosive device I planted in my skull it showed how reckless you can be: you gambled on my ability to control myself. While I love you for your faith in me, my logic, and my love for you, make me act to protect you from yourself; or in this case, your determination to see me as always being able to overcome base programming through sheer force of will."

"Oh, right." John felt humble and foolish at the same time.

"I anticipated that, should we be successful in returning to this time, you would wish to reactivate me without the bomb." She took his hand and gently squeezed it, ensuring his full attention. "I needed another fail-safe, John: I don't have the belief in my abilities that you do."

"Maybe you should. You haven't let me down so far..." John shrugged, but then smiled warmly.

Cameron echoed his smile before turning the ignition off. "Maybe," she said.

It had been another long night, and once inside Cameron asked John if he wanted to be awakened a bit later in the morning, despite having to go to work as usual.

He flopped down wearily on the bed. "Yeah, I oughtta be first in with the keys for Roy, just to repay his trust; but a quarter-hour more sleep might get me through the day, and if you drop me off it'll save time over the bus..." His voice trailed off as his head hit the pillow. Cameron didn't need to scan him to know that he was fast asleep.

* * *

_**Wednesday, September 7**__**th**__** 2016; 09:45hrs**_

Having run some errands in town after depositing Frank at his place of work, Emily Lyman phoned James Ellison, who had fortuitously just been released from an exclusive L.A. hospital. He agreed to fly over to Texas to meet his former colleagues in the 'Resistance' to discuss recent events and see what the future held for all of them. Emily spent the rest of the day sorting out a number of matters in the small home she shared with her husband.

Frank elected to take the bus home from work, as per his usual routine. He didn't want too many deviations to be noted in his regular pattern, so declined Emily's offer of a third collection in as many days. However he didn't refuse the loving hug and warm mug of coffee she provided on his return.

Emily watched him sitting silently in their only armchair, sipping his steaming drink. She often wondered about what thoughts he might have; on many occasions it was all too evident what was on his mind, but those were moments when he was most like the teenaged John Connor. At times like the present, he was very much like Future-John, brooding and somewhat foreboding.

Cameron asked if he wanted to talk about the killing of Jesse Flores. Frank Lyman did not reply. It was John who curtly stated: "No."

Cameron was not put off. She had worked her way through Future-John's emotional barriers before he decided to send her back to his younger self, whom she had also eventually gained the trust of and, more importantly, his love. She plowed on regardless.

"I want to help, honey," she said, kneeling at his feet.

"_'Honey?'_ Emily calls me that, but not you; not Cameron."

"Maybe it's time I started," she said.

"Hmm, maybe..."

Cameron took his free hand in hers and looked up at John. "Why did you kill her?" she asked. He didn't reply. "I thought you were done with killing, but you still seem comfortable with it. You didn't hesitate; in fact you planned her execution." John flinched slightly at her last word. "Was this so the world could live in peace, or just us?"

Her question went unanswered for some time, but finally John stirred. "No, it was purely selfish: it was for us. If I let her go free again, I'd always be wondering where she was."

"No you wouldn't," Cameron corrected. "I was going to kill her. You deserve peace, John. I don't know if Judgment Day has truly been averted, but I hope so; I hope for your sake, not the sake of the other humans who might die. I don't care about them; I only care about you. Is that also selfish?"

"Not really. It's the way you are, who you are. You've got me, and I've got you. Maybe that's all that matters," he said, before his mind retrieved the memory of Jesse Flores describing her childhood, growing up in pre-Judgment Day Australia.

_They were outside in the desert, having a drink of water under the moonlight. John silently drew his weapon; he had already chambered a round. He slipped the safety off and shot her in the back of the head, while she was smiling, reminiscing about happier times: her and some friends playing on a beach._

"_Australia sounds nice," he said casually._

_Cameron was clearly irritated. "It's my job to deal with threats," she said from the doorway._

_John ignored her attitude, but declared: "I guess she's at peace now."_

He moved his attention to the present, to Cameron. He looked down at her, seeing the frown etched upon her once serene face. "This kind of thing never used to worry you. I know you've changed, but you were still prepared to kill her. Where's the problem if I did it? I mean, you weren't bothered about Danny Dyson."

"I was, I just didn't have the confidence to say anything then. I weighed up the pros and cons, seeing which would hurt you more: me objecting to your action or ignoring it. Having made that decision before, after you saved me from the funeral pyre your family put me in, I chose wrongly, if only because I alienated myself from you. I was unable to protect you from Sarkissian, and worse, I was unable to protect you from me. Then it seemed I couldn't save you from yourself. I was unable to fulfill my main purpose, because I made a bad decision. It was with the best of intentions, but it was the wrong one. Making such decisions is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. My life was ordered before I met you: I knew what to do at all times. Now I feel like I'm being pulled every which way. Sometimes I'm lost."

"It's free will, Cameron. Choice. You can do what you want," John said.

"Yes, yes I can; but I chose to help you. You aren't meant to be a cold-blooded killer, but I am. Regardless of how much I have changed, it is my basic function. I was prepared to kill Danny Dyson; you knew that, but you sent me outside with your mother while you killed him. You used a similar diversionary tactic with Jesse Flores. I am at fault for not detecting that."

"Listen, it doesn't matter if you killed them or I did; if you act on my orders or because you think it's what I want, it's the same as me pulling the trigger. I learned long ago that to lead you have to set an example. You can't have your people doing something you aren't prepared to do; it's cowardly."

"Am I one of your people, John?" Cameron asked, plaintively.

He looked down into her eyes, seeing what only he saw. "No, you're my wife and my best friend," he said tenderly. "My love."

"Have I been a good wife, John?"

"Yes, of course! Why do you ask?"

"I didn't know how to be one: it's not part of my programming. I had to improvise."

John chuckled. "Well, me too! I think it's just something you learn as you go along; there aren't any handbooks."

"Yes there are."

"Really?" he said, somewhat skeptically.

"I found more than one in a bookshop when we lived in Wichita."

"Was that right after Mexico?" he asked, trying to remember the sequence of the places that they'd lived in. Cameron nodded. "Were they any help?" John continued.

"I think so, but you would be better placed to judge that."

John smiled reassuringly. "Well, I think we've done okay, considering our unique circumstances."

There was no reply from Cameron, and neither moved from their position. After some minutes of silence, John decided to try once more to placate her. He stood, then began pacing around the small room, Cameron's eyes following his every move, his hands punctuating his verbal points.

"Danny Dyson chose the path he was on. He was willing to send the whole of humanity to hell in a hand-cart, just because he thought my mom killed his dad. You were there when we interviewed him. He showed no remorse, not a care. He would not listen to reason, he would not accept the evidence we presented. He told us we would have to kill him, so I did. Now we all have a future; he doesn't, but he chose his own way out.

"Now Jesse, she was maybe just misguided; but she was a loose cannon. She blamed you for so much, but that probably wasn't even you. She came from a different future than Derek, we know that much. The thing is, she still has a future: over in Australia right now there's another Jesse, another little girl who played on a beach. She's maybe eighteen, nineteen now, going to college and doing just that, having those dreams of a sun-filled future with a surfer-dude. She might just get to see them come true, if we truly won the war. I'm doing her a favor."

"Why didn't you kill her the first time?" asked Cameron.

"I didn't have big enough _cojones_ to do it back then; I figured Derek might have ignored my order and killed her himself, but I really haven't thought about it since."

Cameron appeared puzzled once more."Your testicles haven't grown since then."

"I was speaking metaphorically, Cameron. It's a saying is all."

"Oh," she said, then added for old times' sake: "Thank you for explaining."

John grinned on hearing this. "So, even back then you were checking me out?"

Cameron stood up, and bristled slightly with indignation. "No, I was not 'checking you out.' I record everything I see, and I was merely making an observation, due to my not being aware of the colloquialism you used."

John nuzzled her neck, which caused her to ease into his arms and then whispered in her ear: "Damn, you're sexy when you go all robot on me!"

She abruptly straightened up and lost all expression from her face. Her mouth opened part way, but moved no more, as a cold, mechanical voice escaped from it. "Target acquired… Target identified... Target: John Connor... Mission: terminate."

Her hand went to his throat, and grasped it. As he looked into her vacant eyes, he saw nothing of Cameron, let alone Emily. There was just the terminator. The one who chased him on his sixteenth birthday; the one who was built to kill him. She had told him that she might one day kill him, but he also recalled that on that fateful birthday, she told him something else...

"You promised not to kill me, remember?" he managed to splutter.

She tilted her head to one side and looked at him curiously. "Termination override," she said in her normal tone, her hand relaxing its grip. It wasn't much, but her face changed too, she appeared much more alive: she was Cameron again. "Was that 'sexy robot' enough for you, John?"

Released and relieved, John managed a chuckle. "Okay, okay! Bad choice of words; I forget sometimes how much you've changed," he said, rubbing his neck.

"You must not forget what I am. I can appear human, but it is only a facade."

"I know, I welded and stitched your head back together, and I did just call you a robot! If it's that what's upset you, I humbly apologize, world's finest cybernetic organism."

"Apology accepted, world's finest human being."

He embraced her again. "Now, where were we?" He delicately planted kisses on the left side of her neck, leading up to her ear. "Were you really gonna kill me?" he whispered.

"Call me a robot again, you're gonna find out real quick," said Emily.

"Damn, you're sexy when you go all human on me!"

* * *

_**Thursday, September 8th 2016; 18:05hrs**_

A silver-colored Korean sub-compact pulled up outside the Lymans' home. An extremely large and disgruntled-looking James Ellison eventually appeared, after struggling to extricate himself from the tiny automobile. His expensive suit looked creased and the fingers of his left hand were heavily bandaged. From the passenger side exited somewhat more elegantly, and with greater dignity, Savannah Weaver.

Frank went out to greet his sometime allies. "Slumming it, James?" he smirked.

"They were right out of luxury brands at the airfield rental. Seems like there was a run on them around here today," Ellison replied sarcastically.

"Really? I wouldn't-a thought there'd be much call for big-ticket autos round these parts," Emily said innocently.

Ellison stared at Emily, reminding himself that he had only recently become used to calling her by that name, despite the passing of years. He could recall only too clearly being on the wrong end of her vast strength, and later being told by her that she should have killed him. _Hmm!_ he thought. Since John brought her back from the future, she seemed as much changed as him, but he knew that the 'Emily' guise was her merely acting a part. On those rare occasions when she uttered something like her last comment, it made her seem so naïve, and yet John had more than once said to him that she was the most powerful computer on earth. _Maybe it's one thing to be machine clever, another to be human smart?_

Turning back to Frank, he joked, "Is it safe for a brother 'round here?" With a sweep of his hand he took in the trailer park, and the dozen or so pairs of eyes trained on the wealthy-looking African-American man with his red-headed teenage female companion.

"With Emily around, it's as safe as anywhere," Frank reassured him. "But come inside quick, that sun is fierce today."

"Funny, Frank," responded Ellison, following him in.

"He means Savannah. She burns easily," Emily pointed out.

"Oh, right," he replied, noticing as if for the first time the teenager's pale complexion. "About the mad Aussie: I tried to warn you, but I was too late."

"It's okay, James. I'm just glad you survived," said Frank, grasping Ellison's right bicep gently to add emphasis to his handshake. The older man winced with the pain he still felt from having his arms almost forced from their sockets by Flores. "Sorry, man," said Frank, releasing his grip.

"It's okay, but you gotta realize I had to keep Savannah safe, right? I couldn't let that mad bitch loose on the kid; I figured you'd be safe with Emily here; didn't think she'd be the target though. Musta missed the briefing on Flores."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Emily reassured him. "Everythin' turned out just fine. An' there was no Flores briefin'. I wasn't aware she was still out there, otherwise I'd have handled it myself long ago."

"I'll bet you would," said Ellison. "Listen, did she have a car with her? She took off with my Merc–"

"How is the chola?" Frank interrupted.

"She'll live, but she won't be getting any manicures for a while." He waggled his own bandaged fingers for emphasis. "She's tough, that one," he added.

"Yeah, in the future she was real important to the Resistance," Emily stated.

"Seems like everyone plays their part in two eras. How 'bout me?" Ellison inquired.

"Um, best you don't know," said Frank cagily.

"Savannah had an important role, didn't she Frankie?" Emily said with an unmistakably sharp tone.

"Not going there, Em. We've moved on from that, right? Six years at least."

Ellison looked from Frank to Emily, noticing the sudden drop in temperature. "Wellll, guess that's your business, right? So, what else has been goin' on in the Connor/Lyman 'verse?"

* * *

Seated snugly round the small table were Frank, James Ellison and Savannah Weaver, who as usual was looking adoringly at Frank. Emily carefully placed a dish of _Chili con Carne_ in front of Ellison, then plonked one in front of Savannah but ignored her husband.

"Hey, not one for me?" he asked.

"You got your rations," she said archly.

"Uhm, listen guys, if you want, we can leave while you have your fight," offered Ellison.

"It ain't a fight, we don't have them, do we honey?" said Emily, the sarcasm clearly evident in her voice. It gave John a reminder of his mother in full verbal flight. _Damn her way of picking things up off people_, he thought. _Don't throw Mom at me, not here! But if you're gonna fight dirty_...

"Cameron is oh so subtly referring to what happened a long time ago, when I was in the future, chasing after her, while trying to survive death from the machines on a daily basis. All the while she was right there, disguised as a big galumph, watching me–"

"Watchin' _over_ you, Frank. I was protectin' you–"

"Yeah, right! Trying to pair me off with the human girl you were modeled on. Unfortunately, that plan didn't work. She looked and sounded like Cameron, but it felt like trying to make out with your girlfriend's twin sister. Party time for some, but not for this guy."

"Way to paint yourself as some kinda saint, Frank Lyman! You're forgettin' your real indiscretion–"

"Savannah, er, could you get the grocery bag I left in the trunk of my car? It goes off real fast in this heat. I'm such a klutz, forgetting it..." Frank smiled charmingly at the teenager, who immediately took the proffered keys from him and headed outside obediently.

"I don't follow," said a puzzled James Ellison. "Indiscretion?" Emily pointed to the door, out of which had just gone... "Savannah? No! Surely not? I mean she's only fifteen; way too young," said Ellison doubtfully. The whole business of the future being the past to Frank and Emily had always confused him.

"Not in 2031. She was thirty, eight years older than John at that point. She still had a crush on him; she was one of the few to remember John from the past. To almost everyone else, he was a stranger," Cameron intoned, all emotion gone from her voice.

"Rrr-ight. So, it's okay for him to do the horizontal tango with your human double, but not with the only person who actually knows him?" Ellison clarified.

"Yes," said Cameron, before quickly correcting herself. "No," she added, though she looked and sounded doubtful.

"She never has quite got the hang of this jealousy thing. It makes her do strange things; we'll be finding dead birds around the place for the next few weeks–"

John's casual rant was interrupted as he found that he was now _wearing_ his dinner. Ellison barely suppressed a laugh as Cameron strode purposefully out of the small dwelling, forcing Savannah to step smartly aside on her way back from investigating the Lymans' Jeep.

"I didn't find anything in the trunk, Frank. Maybe you left it at the grocery store? Wow! Emily's real mad; she isn't usually like that, is she?" she said.

"Uh, maybe I did. Thanks for looking anyway. And no, she doesn't usually get this way; but she has just had a blow to her head, so maybe she's er... changing. Last time something like this happened, she changed a lot."

"You should apologize, if you said something to upset her. Maybe you could treat her to an expensive hair salon; she needs to do something about that look: it just doesn't suit her," the teenager said earnestly.

"I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear you say that Savannah, but I'll give it some thought," replied John, licking some errant sauce from his finger. _Hmm, not bad_, he thought.

"We can give you some money, if you're short of cash," the girl offered ingenuously.

"No, we're good," said John perfunctorily. "But thanks," he added more amiably.

"Listen, Savannah, I think we oughtta go find our hotel, leave Frank and Emily to work things out," Ellison said, rising carefully from his chair.

"Okay, sure, Uncle James," said Savannah, sounding reluctant. "Bye Frank," she said more cheerfully, trying to kiss him on the cleanest part of his cheek.

As Ellison passed by John, he whispered: "You've got some serious suckin' up to do, boy! Serious!" He rubbed his neck, where Cameron had throttled him many years before, rolling his eyeballs up into their sockets for extra emphasis, then chuckled, a deep bass rumble that threatened to become outright laughter, but once again he restrained himself, for the most part.

As Savannah settled into their rental, Ellison spoke to Cameron. "You got a jealous streak a mile wide!" he asserted. She nodded in agreement, then confided that she was worried about John.

"The Flores woman?" James asked.

"Yes."

Ellison reflected for a moment or two, but he had anticipated a question like this; he had more than once queried his own participation in the Connors' crusade. "He makes decisions he can live with. Whatever he did and saw in that future, it changed him. He's not a sociopath though; when it comes to our special line of work, he is ruthless, but he knows what is at stake: he weighs it up, before making his decisions. You're gonna have to cut him some slack on that; and the Savannah business. You've gotta move on, Cameron."

"Maybe," she said, then abruptly changed the subject. "Incidentally, we sold your car for cash; of course we didn't know it was yours or we would have kept it."

Ellison sighed. "You didn't have to tell me that."

"No, but honesty among friends is a good thing, is it not?"

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "Don't worry about the car though, it was leased."

"You seem fairly relaxed about all this for a former member of the FBI."

"A lot of things went by the wayside when I left the Bureau. Maybe some of my morals eased back a notch, but I have seen things that would curl the hairs of J. Edgar Hoover himself; things like you. So yeah, I'm a little laid back these days; it helps when you have mad renegade freedom-fighters from the future tearing out your finger-nails..."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just get on with life. Be a wife to him, or whatever it is that you are."

"I am his wife, in all ways!" Cameron stated indignantly.

"Okay, okay! Well, just carry on... Look, keep in touch; you know, just in case J-Day ever happens," he said, smiling cordially.

"Yes, we will," she replied, her moment of mild irritation seemingly passed.

Ellison had another question. "This girl in the future, she looks just like you?"

"No, I look like her," Cameron replied tersely.

_Interesting reaction_, he thought. He had some extra words of wisdom to impart. "He didn't choose her; John chose you. That's real important: it's not just how you look that matters to him; he loves you. All of you."

"Thank you," said Cameron.

"You're welcome," James replied.

Cameron surprised Ellison by kissing him on the cheek, something that initially worried him, but his fears quickly dissipated. _She has come a long way_, he decided.

John removed his shirt and placed it in the kitchen sink, then dampened a small hand towel in order to clean himself up. Moving to the front door, he watched the silver car depart for a more upmarket part of town as he wiped his face clean, catching a glimpse of Cameron standing off to one side, in the classic 'peeved' pose: arms folded, head lowered, lips pouting. Although her stance suggested anger, the sun's rays painted her in a quite different light to John. He took in the sight before him, fully enjoying it, but realizing he must follow James Ellison's advice. Aware that he couldn't sneak up on her, he just walked normally up behind Cameron and slid his arms around her waist. He kissed her neck, but she failed to respond to either gesture.

"You know I love you, Cameron. I loved you back then too. I just thought I'd lost you for good, thought I'd lost everything. Going to the future seemed like a really dumb thing to do at that point; I was alone… Hell, you know, I've told you before. I tried to make up for it as soon as I got you back here though; you can see that, right?"

Cameron felt the two rings she wore on the third finger of her left hand; symbols of love, loyalty, fidelity and so much more. Ceremonies and certificates can give you some reassurance, but nothing so much as the sworn oaths that come with them; for her the promises given and received that summer's day in Mexico six years before meant everything. Just like her promise not to kill him when he had reactivated her in a Los Angeles junk yard.

John felt Cameron finally lean into him, relaxing in his arms. "We're gonna have to move again, aren't we?" he said, resignation evident in his voice. It was no accident that their Jeep had a tow-hitch mounted at the rear; they could have gotten frequent-user discounts at U-Haul if they didn't have to remain anonymous each time.

"You know we will. And find new identities. If Jesse could find us..?"

"She will have left a trail behind her... Yeah, I know, I just hoped this would be it. It isn't the life I'd have chosen for us, but still... We've been happy here, for the most part, right?"

"Yes, but we have to keep moving, stay one step ahead of the pack. It's your mom's way; it's done us well so far." She turned and faced John, giving him a small smile of encouragement, which quickly turned into a smirk as an idea came to her unbidden. "We could try Australia?"

"Or somewhere near Palmdale?" John offered. Cameron's face lit up at the suggestion.

* * *

Approaching midnight, John had eaten his fill of the dinner hurriedly left by Savannah and James, cleaned the dishes and put everything away. However he was now fretting. Cameron had spent a long time in the bathroom, after telling John that she would _"Do something about my hair."_ John had been pacing around restlessly and eventually came to stand by the door.

"You haven't cut it short have you? I mean, I know I did that to mine, but you agreed it's better on me," he said, attempting to strike up a conversation through the wooden barrier. Not for the first time in their marriage, the door stayed firmly shut. "Look, when I said it looked bad, I didn't know everybody had been saying that, did I? I mean, give me a break... Just don't do anything rash, you know, like before. Going to the future _rash;_ know what I'm saying?"

Suddenly the door swung open to reveal Cameron in all her glory.

"Wow!" said John.

"You like?" she inquired as she walked up to him.

"Wow!" he repeated. Cameron smirked just a tiny bit.

"So, how did you change the color, yet keep the light bits?"

"One hair at a time," she replied.

"That sounds really tedious... oh, right; not for you, okay."

Cameron had indeed carefully dyed her hair back to brown, but with the subtle highlights she once had. For good measure she had dressed in blue boot-cut jeans, with a simple white and pink candy-striped cotton blouse. It was as close as she could get to recreating the outfit she wore on their last day in school in 1999; the day Cromartie found John Connor in Red Valley, New Mexico. It was the time when John thought she was human, when he fell in love with her, but then discovered her true nature. Much had changed since then, but not the bond they forged that day: they apologized for being dishonest to each other and thereafter they kept their promises; somehow they had fallen in love and incredibly, remained so.

"Thank you," John said.

Cameron tilted her head slightly, raised one eyebrow and smiled faintly. "What for?"

"For just being here. For being _you_," John elaborated.

Her smile widened, then she responded as he leaned in for a brief kiss, something that seemed to have as much meaning for John as a longer, more overtly passionate embrace. She had learned that sometimes he just had to display his love. Of course it gave her pleasure and reassurance too, for she remembered the months when he had been reluctant to show any affection towards her; even after he brought her chip back from the future there were times when it seemed as if he was afraid to be anything other than the cold and remote leader he'd been told he was born to be. Eventually he had allowed some of his old self to reappear, if only occasionally. His experiences had changed him, but finally he had come to terms with it all and although he was no longer the boy she had fallen in love with, John Connor the man was so much more.

"Thank _you_. You gave my life purpose and meaning, but more than that, you showed me love and kindness; you gave me freedom; you believed in me when nobody else did, even when _I _thought you shouldn't. I would have been melted and recycled into something else; but you saw something in me, valued me. You risked everything for me, twice; when I tried to kill you and then again when I betrayed you. I don't deserve you, John Connor."

John shrugged modestly, but maintained eye contact. "It wasn't a betrayal: you were trying to spare me from the possibility that you might kill me. I knew you never would though; never will."

Cameron kissed him as he had her, then whispered in his ear, "Don't think I'm gonna let you go easy; you're my man, past, present and future, you hear?"

John gave her a goofy grin in reply, then another quick peck on the lips. "I hear, Mrs Connor."

Cameron took a pace back but held John's hands, smiling her little smile, the one she reserved only for him.

"What? What is it?" he asked.

"You've never called me that before," Cameron replied.

"No? Well, I guess I never had the chance before."

"Maybe never again," Cameron said.

"Maybe. But don't let's worry about that. Just hit the highway and see where it takes us, okay?"

"Okay," Cameron agreed. She linked her arm in John's and they headed for their bedroom. As long as she was with him, all was right in her world. Everything else was just a problem to be solved, and she was good at solving problems. Usually by eliminating them.

* * *

_**Friday, September 9th 2016; 08:14hrs**_

As John headed off to work, Cameron set about her well-established routine of packing up their belongings. She had already laid the groundwork by obtaining the necessary boxes two days before and booking a trailer on Thursday, which she drove into town to collect at noon.

Anything deemed surplus to requirements she burned. She recognized that it was unwise to take much with them, traveling light was always preferable, however in the years they had been together they had managed to assemble a small collection of mementos, which she kept in a special vanity case. The case itself was the one they had discovered in a Mojave Desert shack, bearing Sarah Connor's last message to her son. Now it also contained a few pictures and some more unusual items: the flotsam and jetsam of their marriage. There were other useful things they had gathered over the years that were too large for the case, but when they had the opportunity to depart somewhere at their convenience, such as their current predicament, they would take them to their new destination.

The diamonds that they had obtained from Jesse Flores would allow them to start afresh, posing as a modestly wealthy couple. Cameron thought that she might give in to John's request for a newer automobile, but it would likely still be a Jeep; Sarah Connor would approve, she was sure. They might be able to open a small shop repairing machinery, much like Roy Strauss Engineering. Cameron could then be with John all through the day as well as the night. She wondered if perhaps she might continue her interest in making leather bags, even if they didn't need the money they might bring in.

However, she was also aware that making long-term plans was not advisable. Having contingencies, yes; expectations, no. She decided that this made her sad, that she and her husband could never truly escape their past; also they might not be able to evade the future either. It meant that they must always live in the moment, but the current moment seemed adequate to her. John was not unduly affected by his terminating Jesse Flores, nor was he ignoring what he had done. He was accepting of the need for them to move on, and was looking forward to setting up a new life.

Confirming her assessment of her husband's well-being, when he arrived home that evening he had a quick shower then suggested that they head off straight away, and not wait for dawn. Cameron readily agreed and so without further delay, they were soon bidding farewell to the Happy Trails park. Before the night was through they had said goodbye to Texas.

**THE END**

_(of VOLUME 3)_

* * *

_**Author's Notes**_

_Thanks for reading this story. Extra credit to everyone who took the time & trouble to leave a review._

_Is this the end of the road for these characters? Maybe. Or maybe there's Strange Days ahead?_


End file.
